A royal priest in royal blue
It’s the 14th century before Christ.
A man cautiously pulls back a curtain,
steadies his nerves,
breathes deep and steps in.
Friends who aren’t allowed to come in
wait outside.
They crane their necks,
hoping to catch the jingle of the bells he wears.
The jingle that tells them “he still moves”,
that the priest has survived,
he’s still alive.
They listen for the jingle of acceptance,
as he enters the Holy place.
He is in the very presence of Yahweh, the Lord God Almighty.
But he doesn’t enter for himself alone,
did you spot them?
Amongst his clothes of dignity and honour,
the twelve stones on his breastplate.
Can you make out the engraving?
The names of Israel’s families
he wears them over his heart before God,
as a memorial before Him.
He carries all of Israel on his heart into God’s presence.
And now,
there's me.
21 centuries after Christ,
a chosen one,
a royal priest in royal blue scrubs.
Again, clothed in dignity and honour,
but now clothed in Christ himself- wow!
And I come boldly… can you believe it?
I waltz in with all the familiarity of a daughter crawling up onto her Dad’s
lap.
And I’m in.
In the presence of the same Yahweh,
the very same Lord God almighty.
I’m fully accepted. Fully welcome.
And, you won’t have spotted them
but I too have twelve names I carry
from our twelve bedded ward in our children's hospital.
Twelve patient’s names,
Twelve stories of sickness and brokenness.
I wear their names over my heart before Him,
in His presence I intercede for them,
“Your kingdom come,
your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.
For yours is the kingdom,
the Power and the glory,
forever and ever”.
Amen.